A Sense of Guilt

by Andrea Newman

  It sounded wonderful. Sally imagined going away with the pressure taken off her, getting into bed and hiding under the duvet for days or even weeks. She might wake up and find the problem solved: a miscarriage, or someone saying it was too late for an abortion now. Or even a baby. Could she sleep for seven months? She would certainly like to; she could visualise nothing more enticing.

  The doctor smiled at her. ‘Sally, why don’t you go home and think about it? Come back next week and we’ll have another chat.’

  ‘Could I?’ She was so grateful. Time to think. Choices. And she loved the way the doctor seemed to find it all routine, something that happened all the time. She wasn’t the only idiot around. She wasn’t unique. Helen had made her feel that she had been monstrously stupid.

  Helen said, ‘Look, the father’s a married man, a family friend. He’s middle-aged. He’s got a childless menopausal wife who adores him. She’ll have a fit if she finds out. And Sally’s going to university in October. This could ruin her life.’

  ‘I know it’s very difficult,’ the doctor said. ‘These things always are. But it’s still Sally’s decision. You and I might think she’d be crazy to have a baby now, but it’s still up to her. And there’s always adoption. There’s a great shortage of babies, thanks to the 1967 Abortion Act. It would be very easy to arrange.’

  ‘Are you anti-abortion?’ Helen asked. ‘Because if you are, just tell me and we’ll go somewhere else. I have a right to do that.’

  ‘Of course you do. And I’m not anti-abortion at all. I recommend lots of my patients to have terminations. Often it’s the best solution. But only if that’s what they really want. And I’m not sure Sally’s made up her mind yet. Have you, Sally?’

  ‘I think I ought to have an abortion really,’ said Sally, just to please Helen, now that she felt sure the doctor would not believe her.

  The doctor looked perfectly calm and contented. ‘Why?’ he said.

  Sally didn’t know what to say. ‘Well, it’s the sensible thing. I can’t look after a baby and I’m going to college and it’ll make all sorts of problems…’

  The doctor smiled. ‘D’you want the baby?’

  Helen said, ‘For God’s sake…’

  Sally said, ‘I don’t know.’

  The doctor sat back in his chair. ‘Come back next week. I’ve got to be sure you really want a termination, not just to please your mother. As the law stands, in theory we don’t have abortion on demand, but in practice we do. Don’t quote me on that, I’ll deny it. But the situation is this: if you truly want an abortion, I can arrange it. If you want an adoption, I can arrange that too. And if you want to keep your baby, then that’s up to you. It really is your decision.’

  Helen said, ‘I’m sorry, I don’t think Sally’s old enough to know what this decision means. A baby is a lifetime commitment.’

  The doctor said, ‘Yes, of course, I appreciate your anxiety. I even happen to agree with you.’

  ‘I wouldn’t have guessed,’ Helen said.

  ‘I’m sorry. Perhaps I’m going too far the other way. But Sally’s got to feel happy about her decision or you and I will have a lot of problems in the future, much worse than this one.’

  * * *

  They sat in the van and didn’t speak for a while. Then Helen said, ‘Well, that’s that.’

  ‘We can go back next week. He said so.’

  ‘Whatever for?’

  ‘To say I want an abortion.’

  Helen sighed. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. He’ll never believe you now. He’ll just think I’m pushing you into it.’

  Sally said, greatly daring, ‘Well, aren’t you?’

  Helen started the van. ‘If you want this baby, all you have to do is tell Richard. He’ll make sure you have it.’

  This was so true that Sally was silent.

  ‘In fact,’ Helen said, ‘I don’t really understand why you didn’t tell Richard instead of me.’

  ‘I don’t know either,’ Sally said. ‘Except I didn’t want him to be angry with Felix.’

  ‘Or just possibly you don’t want to have the baby,’ said Helen, ‘but you’d rather blame me for making the decision.’

  ‘I just want time to think,’ Sally said. ‘The doctor said I could have a week.’

  ‘It’s no good,’ said Helen, parking, ‘I’m not fit to drive.’

  Sally started to cry. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I messed it up, didn’t I? I couldn’t think fast enough, I didn’t know what to say.’

  Helen put her arms round her. ‘I don’t mind if you do blame me,’ she said. ‘That’s what I’m here for.’

  * * *

  Driving into the country reminded Helen how much she would hate to live there. She felt homesick for buildings, threatened by a lack of structure when surrounded by fields and trees. No amount of beauty could make up for feeling unsafe. She still wasn’t sure why she had come: whether Carey simply had a right to know that his daughter was pregnant or whether she was actually hoping against the odds that he might even now come up with the help and support he had never been able to give her before. The triumph of hope over experience: she seemed to remember that as a definition of second marriage.

  She knew without checking the address that she had found the right house. Discarded furniture lay rusting and rotting in the garden, alongside rabbit hutches and a goat in a pen, morosely cropping grass and staring at her with a challenging look. As she walked up the path she could hear children screaming. God knows how Barbara Hepworth managed with triplets, she thought; she must have been made of sterner stuff than I am.

  Marsha opened the door and her face lit up with joyful surprise at the sight of Helen. What a nice person she must be, Helen reflected; no wonder Carey loves her. I can’t imagine myself giving Inge such a radiant welcome if she turned up on my doorstep. But her eyes were drawn at once to Marsha’s distended belly, and she felt the loss of hope without really knowing what she had been hoping for.

  ‘Yes, now you know what I’m getting for Christmas,’ Marsha said cheerfully. ‘Oh, Helen, it’s lovely to see you after all this time.’

  It was hard to remember that Marsha was ten years younger than herself. Her red hair curled wildly and she had put on a lot of weight. But her large freckled face was placid and friendly, rather like a good-natured cow. A child of two clung to her legs, one aged four peered round her and a six-year-old hovered in the background. Yet she seemed remarkably carefree.

  ‘I’m sorry to drop in like this,’ Helen said, ‘but I need to talk to Carey about Sally and when I tried to ring they said your phone had been disconnected.’

  Marsha looked vague. ‘Has it? I don’t use it much. Well, I don’t get the time, not with this lot. I suppose he didn’t pay the bill. I do remind him but you know what he’s like.’

  Helen smiled and nodded. She thought they might have been two mothers discussing a much-loved errant son.

  ‘Oh, do come in, Helen,’ Marsha said. ‘You’re looking ever so well. How’s the painting going?’

  ‘I won’t, thanks all the same. I’m in a bit of a hurry. Could you just ask Carey to ring me and tell him it’s urgent.’ Marsha shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, love, he’s in Brighton. He’s away all week.’

  ‘Could you give me his number?’

  ‘I don’t think he has one. Well, he probably has but he hasn’t given it to me.’ She laughed. ‘I expect he’s up to his old tricks. Well, you can’t blame him really, can you, not with me in this state. I’ve got his address, if that’s any good, only he doesn’t answer letters, does he?’

  ‘Not unless he’s changed out of all recognition,’ said Helen sharply.

  ‘I’ll get it for you,’ said Marsha, waddling off.

  How strange, Helen thought. I actually used to be jealous of her. I used to torture myself imagining her and Carey making love. Now we’re like old friends, pleased to see each other and amused by his little weaknesses.

  The two-year-old had followed Marsha but the
other children remained. The four-year-old put its tongue out at Helen and she returned the gesture. It was a relief to admit to herself that she did not like children. They took up too much time and energy. They tore the guts out of you. She could never have coped with more: she simply didn’t have the resources. The depth of her love for Sally told her that, as much as Marsha’s cheerful chaos.

  Marsha came back and gave her a piece of paper. ‘I do wish you’d have a cup of tea. I could do with a chat.’

  She sounded lonely, missing adult company. Helen said, ‘I’m sorry, I’ve got so much to do. Maybe another time. Thanks for the address.’

  Marsha patted her belly. ‘Wish me luck, won’t you?’

  ‘Oh, I do,’ said Helen sincerely. ‘Believe me.’

  Marsha laughed. ‘This is definitely the last one. Mind you, we said that last time.’

  * * *

  Driving to Brighton tested the van to the limit of its powers, but she managed to arrive just as the rehearsal was ending, Sibelius’s Fifth wafting out to her as she sat in the lobby. It was her first moment of peace in a day that seemed already long and stressful. She closed her eyes and let it wash over her for a few moments before going to waylay Carey at the exit. Waiting for him made her feel like a wife again and that shocked her, the realisation that she still felt like Richard’s mistress. She wondered if he would take that as a compliment. She didn’t really believe in marriage any more, but that of course meant she didn’t believe in divorce either.

  She was unprepared for the rush of feelings that swamped her when she saw him. Like Marsha he looked much older and heavier, and there was far more grey in his hair. She found herself feeling protective towards him, thinking how much he must hate growing old. She remembered the sense of identity they had given each other at the beginning, when one of their favourite fantasies was that they were twins enjoying an incestuous relationship.

  He looked startled to see her, too, and then delighted. They stood and smiled at each other while the rest of the orchestra hurried past. Although he looked older, the mere fact of seeing him seemed to put her in touch with her own youth. It was quite a shock to remember how much she had once loved him.

  She said, ‘Sibelius sounded OK.’

  ‘Yes, it still works, that one.’ And after a long silence: ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘I want to talk to you about Sally.’

  ‘Come and have a drink then.’

  She sensed him wanting to take her arm and not quite liking to. They walked together towards the nearest pub. Now it felt awkward, like a blind date.

  She said, ‘Marsha was very cheerful.’

  ‘Yes, she likes being pregnant.’

  ‘Just as well really.’

  At the door of the pub he stopped and said to her abruptly, ‘You look wonderful.’

  * * *

  She told him about Sally and he listened, looking more and more concerned, but not speaking. When she stopped he said, ‘God, what a mess. I wish I knew what to say.’

  She was conscious of feeling unfairly disappointed and also obscurely blamed. ‘Oh, I don’t expect an instant solution. I just thought you should know somehow, as you’re her father, and I daren’t tell Richard. It seems too big a thing to do on my own without talking to anyone.’

  ‘Poor Helen. I’m sorry. I wish I’d been there.’

  She said sharply, ‘Well, you’re here now,’ thinking how typical it was that they should meet after all these years at a time of crisis and be almost at once on the verge of a row. It was all so familiar; nothing had changed.

  He said, ‘Are you blaming me? Is it all my fault for buggering off?’

  ‘Well, I don’t think I’d go quite that far. But it did cross my mind that maybe if she’d had her own father around, she might not have found Felix so attractive.’

  ‘I thought Richard was meant to be the perfect step-father.’ He sounded bitter and sulky, as if all his life he had been compared and found wanting.

  ‘Yes, he’s been wonderful. They get on very well. But it’s not the same, is it?’ Suddenly she felt quite fragile and reluctant to fight: an alarming sensation when she had trained herself not to be vulnerable. ‘Oh, I don’t know, Carey. Maybe she needed you, maybe she didn’t. I just feel I’m all alone with the problem and I wanted to share it with you.’

  Carey put his hand over hers on the table. His touch gave her a shock like electricity. So that too was unchanged. They both looked at their two hands and then back at each other.

  ‘I did mean to keep in touch,’ Carey said. ‘But it wasn’t easy. You were pretty angry with me at first.’

  ‘Yes, I was.’

  ‘I found it very painful, you know. I mean, seeing you both and then just going away afterwards. You made it so clear you didn’t need me.’

  Helen remembered how much she had needed him and how hard it had been to pretend otherwise. ‘Sally needed you,’ she said.

  ‘I didn’t have very much to offer her then.’

  ‘What about now? If I can’t talk her into having an abortion.’ She paused: the alternative was really too dreadful to contemplate. ‘I just had this wild idea you might be able to fit one more baby into your household and hardly notice.’

  ‘My God,’ Carey said.

  ‘Oh well, it was just an idea. I must say my heart rather sank when I saw Marsha. Four seems a lot more than three.’

  ‘Yes,’ Carey said, ‘it does to me too.’ Their hands were still touching, linked but unmoving, there on the table. ‘Can’t Sally just have it adopted?’

  ‘Suppose she doesn’t want to when it comes to the point and I get stuck with it? I’m not having Felix’s child in my house.’ When she heard her own words she realised that the decision was made, regardless of Sally’s wishes, and she was shocked and relieved.

  ‘Is he as bad as all that?’

  ‘He’s a pig. I hope his cock drops off.’

  Carey smiled. ‘You said that to me once.’

  ‘Did I? I don’t remember. Well, it obviously didn’t work. I can’t be a very efficient witch.’

  He looked at their hands, and then at her face. He looked old and grey and tired, a man who had come to terms with his situation. She saw her own lost youth in his face and remembered how they had both intended to be famous and rich and in love for ever.

  ‘Well, what now? I’d like to go back to my hotel for a rest. Will you come with me?’

  She heard herself saying, ‘I suppose that’s why I’m here.’

  * * *

  His skin still smelt the same, but then why should it not? That was normal, although it felt like magic. Their bodies slid together with the same familiar ease and they knew how to excite each other, dissolving the intervening years with laughter and skill. It seemed natural: everything fitted. She felt very healed, letting all her burdens drop along with her clothes, and able to forgive him for long-ago sins that she had carried heavily and angrily for many years. They were at peace.

  She said, ‘You have a very comforting body.’

  ‘I’ve missed you.’

  They kissed. The kiss went on for a long time, as if they were both afraid of coming out of it and starting to talk again.

  ‘You’re better off with Marsha,’ she said eventually. ‘This is all we ever had.’

  ‘It still feels like quite a lot.’

  ‘But not enough when I started shouting about the unpaid bills, the unanswered letters, the telephone cut off.’

  They smiled at each other, because now in bed, all this time later, these were minor crimes and did not matter.

  ‘Not to mention the bits on the side in the afternoons,’ she added, thinking that she was now comfortably one of them. ‘Maybe it’s my fault you didn’t keep in touch with Sally. Maybe I made you feel unwelcome because I was afraid I’d do exactly what I’m doing now.’ And she remembered how when her father died she had been frantic to go to bed with someone, just for comfort. The warmth of another body as a hedge against d
eath.

  Carey said, ‘You know… we could keep in touch.’

  ‘Oh no,’ she said, alarmed at the temptation. ‘This is strictly a one-off. A bit of help and comfort in my hour of need. God, you feel wonderful. You feel so solid. I have to keep reminding myself how flimsy you are inside.’

  ‘You don’t do a lot for my morale.’

  ‘Yes, I do.’

  ‘Yes, you do.’ He smiled. ‘I’d really like to see Sally again. Can I?’

  ‘I wish you would. She’s going to need someone. I’m afraid she may go off me in a big way when this is over, but that’s a chance I’ll have to take.’

  He said, sounding dubious, ‘You’re that sure you’re right?’

  ‘Yes, I am.’

  ‘I do hate to think of her having an abortion.’

  As if I don’t, Helen thought. Men can afford to have these fine scruples. You won’t be the one having to cope with this baby you don’t want aborted. Suddenly she was annoyed with herself for involving him in such a female mess.

  ‘So do I,’ she said, ‘but she’ll get over it. She’ll grieve for a few months and she’ll blame me. That’s all right. What she won’t get over is a lifetime with Felix’s child.’

  There was a long silence. Carey said hesitantly, ‘When you kicked me out…’

  ‘When you left me.’

  ‘When we split up, I thought you might be pregnant.’

  She remembered then his old gift for sensing things, for picking up vibrations, without any real evidence. It could be attractive or threatening.

  ‘So did I,’ she said smoothly. ‘But I wasn’t.’

  ‘I’d have come back if you had been.’

  ‘But I didn’t want you back. At least, only like this.’

  ‘Just wanted you to know,’ he said peaceably.

  ‘Thank you. I think I did know really.’

  They cuddled for a while and she thought of the child that might have been with sadness but without regret. It was better as it was.